Thursday, November 20, 2014

Biters and walkers*

Have I already said Graham is a scooter who never crawled? Nary did the tyke crawl, having chosen instead to scoot around on his butt like a human Roomba. Seriously, check out my Instagram for a hyperlapsed video of him scooting around our living room that makes me howl with laughter every time I see it. I should spray his pants with Lysol and get a little cleaning out of the deal (oldest joke on the planet -- feel free to roll your eyes extremely hard).

When he began his scooting, his pediatrician said it was fine as long as he was using all of his limbs equally. I smiled and nodded but the fact is he does not -- he tucks his left leg and pulls himself along with his right leg and his arms. Damn, I'm giggling just thinking about it. I wasn't super worried because Graham was also showing a lot of interest in learning to walk. But me and my husband were ever so slightly worried and it was all the fault of the Real Housewives of New York, which as everyone knows is the best version of that franchise.

Anyway one of the new housewives, Kristen (delightfully batshit nuts btw), has a daughter who scooted just like Graham and she ended up needing therapy and orthotics to correct muscular issues. Damn you, television! I would live an almost worry-free existence without you! Although, yo, Facebook, you are running a close second, what with your links to articles about moms who die in childbirth, so thanks for that, you dick.

So I was darn happy today when my son was like Hello I would like to walk unassisted now, and he just took off, over and over, teetering and tottering and grinning and laughing hysterically and falling but getting back up to try again. Hot damn that kid is something else.



*reference to "The Walking Dead" fully intentional.

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

NaBloPoMo Reject

I did not post yesterday! Ha!

I am in party planning hell, yo. Which means my tiny infant boy who I just gave birth to last week (it seems like) is about to turn 1 year old.

So things have been nuts.

And I wasn't planning to post tonight, but my husband was all: Are you going to write a post? Me: No. Him: WHAT? You didn't write a post last night so now you have to write two tonight. Me: That is not happening, bossman.

Naw.

Anyway, that is all that is happening. Except for I am also reading Lena Dunham's Not That Kind of Girl and so far it reads like a young girl's mostly funny sexual awakening. I am wondering if that's all the book is about, which is fine I guess, but I am pretty sure there are other interesting things about her, too.

'Tis all.

Good night.


Monday, November 17, 2014

On weaning

Certain unnamed parties continue to ask: Are you still breastfeeding?

Answer: Yes.

Did I imagine I'd still be breastfeeding my kid when he was nearly a year old? No. Then why am I still doing it? Because my child has a very strong association with breastfeeding and sleep. And a sleeping baby is a baby I like. (Secondary reasons: My child is skinny and needs the calories, and has a sensitivity to dairy, so I can't just switch to cow's milk.)

Also, FYIzers, the American Academy of Pediatrics recommends breastfeeding for at least 12 months, and the World Health Organization recommends 2 years (*gulp*).

I do feel a little defensive about still breastfeeding. There's a stigma against moms who breastfeed past age 1, no matter what anyone says. It just makes people uncomfortable to see toddlers breastfeeding. It's like people think, Well, if you're still doing it at 1, next thing you know the kid's gonna have a tumbler of scotch in one hand and mom's boob in the other.

But, there's good news. I do want to wean my little milk hound. Particularly now that he's got TEETH.

I realize most babies begin teething around 6 months, but I got a reprieve and Graham didn't get his first tooth until 10 1/2 months. But they started popping in one after the other and now it's basically like trying to feed a puppy, with those little needle teeth. Today, for example, he bit one boob, unintentionally, and I yelped, scaring him. Then he bit the other one and somehow I gulped back a yell but it hurt so bad tears sprang to my eyes. There is never a time when my boobs do not hurt a little bit.

So believe me, no one is more ready for this child to wean than I am. But also -- I think I'm gonna need a lot of luck to make it happen.

Sunday, November 16, 2014

Review: Inherent Vice

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image from goodreads


Admission: I only read this novel because I saw it was being made into a movie starring Joaquin Phoenix, who(m?) I think is just a truly wonderful actor and so interesting to watch.

And I think it's possible this book will make an entertaining movie. But I really didn't like the book.

Reasons why:

- There were so many characters, I couldn't keep them straight. This may be a mommy brain issue, though.

- It feels like a slight ripoff of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, and, I mean, seriously, there's another lawyer character being played by Benicio del Toro? Was Johnny Depp not available for the lead? The difference in the lead characters is that in FALILV the lead is a reporter and in IV he's a private detective.

- I can tolerate lines and lines of song lyrics in novels when they serve a purpose or are legitimately song lyrics, but all the songs in this novel -- not so much.

- I honestly was not sure what the hell was going on. There seemed to be at least five mysteries happening simultaneously, and it wasn't clear to me what precisely the parameters of any of those mysteries were.

So for that reason, I'm not even sure I can adequately explain the plot. The lead character, Doc, has this ex-girlfriend whose boyfriend goes missing, but then she goes missing, too. And then there's this other guy who's gonna be played by Owen Wilson and he, like, faked his death or something. And there's a cop guy who's gonna be played by Josh Brolin. And there's like a bunch of things called the Golden Fang and I just don't know, you guys. I don't think any of this paragraph even made sense.

The thing is, I know there are people who legitimately enjoyed this book and I want to know who they are and where I went wrong. Help?

Also, what are you reading now and should I be reading it, too?

Saturday, November 15, 2014

Cousins

My son is lucky he lives in the same town as his cousin, Ava, and gets to see her pretty much whenever he wants. It's been fun watching them interact and wondering what they'll be like as they get older. We hope they'll like each other and get along, of course. So far, so good.

These are from earlier today. That's Ava with the braids trailing along behind her, and Graham on the floor doing his best to scoot along after her (he never did crawl; he's a scooter).




Friday, November 14, 2014

Sliding doors

This week's Finding Your Roots With Henry Louis Gates Junior had Sting on it! I mean, he is perhaps the coolest person to ever go on one of these genealogy shows. I was pretty excited, not that it takes much for me when it comes to this stuff.

Sting's real name is Gordon Matthew Thomas Sumner and he comes from a fascinatingly long line of shipyard workers. This is just an interesting (to me) aside.

Anyway, it is impossible for me to ever hear of Sting or hear one of his songs without being immediately mentally transported to rural Alva, Florida circa 2002. I was paying rent to a 30-something reporter who, for God knows why, had moved from California to Florida and bought this terrible house on a canal. I was relegated to a loft room, where there was a window swamp cooler and, thankfully, a door to keep my roommate's cigarette smoke out.

Andi -- my roommate -- lived 16 miles from where we worked at the newspaper. So once we were home for the evening, we were pretty much home. I mean, I went out a few times, but it was a bit of a slog on a rather long, dark road, and after the sun went down, fog rose from the Caloosahatchee and covered the asphalt. So I'd stay in and join Andi on the couch for as long as I could tolerate the secondhand smoke, and she'd play Sting's greatest hits on repeat, and I tell ya what -- it grew on me! I ended up buying the same album so I could enjoy it later, once I'd moved back home.

And about that -- moving back home. I could have not. For a while, anyway. My editor offered to extend my internship and suggested it might lead to a permanent position. This was a few days before I was scheduled to leave, and I didn't plan to linger in Fort Myers, which I'd grown to hate quite deeply. He was a great editor (his name was Sheldon. What a great name.) and the paper was a good paper. I should have been honored at the offer, and any real reporter -- anyone who was dead serious about the profession -- would have accepted it gratefully and hunkered down in that friggin place for a while. And by a while I mean possibly for frigging ever.

But my stomach dropped and I felt simply horrified. I was terribly homesick and really hated Florida -- every single part of it. And it turned out my passion for my chosen career was not as strong as I'd believed it was. And really, if you can't enjoy being a reporter in Florida, which has the frigging strangest news of any state and a terrific open government and public records laws that made doing the job quite a bit easier than it did in California, then you are probably not meant to be a reporter.

So I turned Sheldon down, and Sheldon was rightfully surprised. It was a great offer. Sometimes I think about what would have happened if I'd accepted it. I'd be living a completely different life, I believe. Probably a different husband (if I even would have married), different kid(s), different home in a much different town. Maybe I'd still be a reporter.

Or maybe not. Maybe there's a homing beacon that calls us all back to where we're supposed to be, if indeed we're supposed to be somewhere. Maybe soul mates are a real thing. Maybe we're on paths we can't avoid, no matter how many Sheldons appear with job offers 3,000 miles from home.

Thursday, November 13, 2014

Style pariah

When it comes to shopping for clothes, do you ever feel like this: I don't know exactly what I'm looking for but I feel like I will know it when I see it, except I never see it, and on the rare occasion that I do see it, it costs $350.

This is the story of my style life and explains why I have one pair of terrible, terrible jeans that fit me (four others that are also terrible and only sort of fit) and I'm currently wearing a nursing tank top and a torn sweater from the GAP (circa 2009). This outfit is extremely representative of my entire wardrobe.

I just don't know anymore. I lost my style identity several years ago and I am having a lot of trouble getting my mojo back. Sometimes my mom or sister will look at something and say: This looks like something you would wear. And I am just like: I look like I wear hobo clothes? And truthfully -- yes, I think I must.

In my head -- in my wildest dreams -- I've got kind of crazy hair and I'm wearing flower child dresses and boots and cable knit and zany earrings.

My more reasonable aspirations have me in nice jeans that FIT! And nice sweaters and jackets and blouses and such. My hair would simply be shiny.

In reality -- most of my clothes are half clean, have holes, and they are probably best described as faded, ill-fitting mom garb. My hair is so far from crazy, it's practically invisible. But at least it's clean!

The situation is so out of hand, I am at a loss as to where to even begin. When I think of the monumental task of finding enough clothes to constitute an acceptable, current, stylish wardrobe, it just makes me unfathomably tired.


Wednesday, November 12, 2014

Caffeine

I know exactly how caffeine has once again rooted itself in my life. Just over four weeks ago, I made a note (I keep pretty meticulous notes about my kid) that Graham stood in the crib for the first time. Every night after that was more terrible than the last. Therefore HELLO CAFFEINE MY OLD FRIEND.

To beat a dead horse, for those who might remember or have read for some time, I am not supposed to have caffeine because of my arrhythmia. It doesn't bother me most days and won't kill me; it just has the ability to make me feel really, really awful. It's only been really awful on three occasions, which I shall list to ensure you are hella bored. 1) After moving to a new, higher elevation town by myself to begin a new job. I didn't find out about the arrhythmia until years later though. 2) After gaining about 20 pounds and having some stressful work times. 3) After two miscarriages and major weight fluctuation.

In every instance, I was chugging caffeine like mad. And the last two times I went to the cardiologist for it, the first thing he said is to stop drinking caffeine. So I did, and I was off of it for a long time! Until just recently. I mean, I needed it, you guys. I couldn't manage to get anything done without it. And also: It makes me a better person. I am like 142% happier on caffeine. And that's just one latte! Of course, I know it's a slippery slope.

I'm not even sure where to go from here. I'm at the point where if I miss a day, I have a bad headache. Which is a bad sign. I don't know, maybe I'll downsize to single espresso shots instead of double (I know you're like, YA THINK). What I do know, of course, is I need to quit, yet again. So that will be fun. Meh.

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

Break your momma's back

Just a brief post tonight. I'm tired. I have a headache. Jane the Virgin beckons.

So, my back hurts. Straight up achin' bacon. Particularly at night, when I'm attempting to sleep. This is problematic, seeing as how I already have something else that keeps me up all night called MY BABY. I suppose this is all related to my abdominal muscles being shot to hell from pregnancy, in addition to having the physique of a marshmallow and carting around my heavy kid all day. No idea what to do about this problem, although I presume Dr. Google would be helpful in this regard.

And then my other problem is that I've managed to frighten my kid so badly that he now hates having a bath. YES I WIN AT MOTHERING. So what happened is that yesterday I put Graham into the tub while the water was still running from the faucet and he freaked the hell out. Message received: Do not put me in the tub while the water is still running. But! As I predicted yesterday, I apparently broke his brain and now the tub is simply a terrifying place to be; he freaked out again when I put him in the tub tonight, even though the water was off. Also very few ideas what to do about this issue.

That is all. Solve my problems, please. Good night.

Monday, November 10, 2014

Closed captioning

Have I mentioned my son is a light sleeper? Mayhaps?

I can't do much of anything once he's in bed; can't make dinner, do dishes, flush the toilet (unless it's a #2, I'm not an ANIMAL), talk on the phone ... You get the picture. So watching TV in the evenings has been interesting for quite some time. Me and my husband watch it at such a low volume, we can't be certain of what's truly happening on any of the shows we watch. Every night one of us turns to the other and asks, 'What did he/she say?' And the other will shrug, 'No idea.' We just sigh and continue watching.

But, as Graham would say, OH WOW. We have figured out how to watch our shows and not miss a single word of dialogue. You probably already know what I'm going to say because you're a smart person and would have done this long ago (also, it's the title of this post): CLOSED CAPTIONING!

I am experiencing a level of television enjoyment I knew only pre-baby. It's so lovely to understand the words that are coming out of people's mouths and to appreciate clever writing. Also, I enjoy being explained to that tense music is playing or someone is moaning or saying, 'Ugh!' Or '[chuckles].' My favorite to date is 'Eugene! Eugene! Eugene ...?' That's from The Walking Dead and is dialogue we never would have even known existed due to our decibel problemo. No problemo any more, amigos.

Sunday, November 09, 2014

The weight thing (again)

So, four thousand years later, I'm still trying to lose weight. Has there ever been a time I haven't been trying to lose weight? The last time I remember weight not mattering to me, I was in the fourth grade. And my weight didn't become an actual issue until years later, in high school.

What pisses me off the most about trying to lose weight is the mental energy I spend worrying about how I look and how to look and feel better. No. 2 on the list of things that piss me off about losing weight is how fucking hard it is.

The weight game changed the second I got pregnant. It feels like everything that's happened to my body since then has been almost involuntary. First I lost weight because I was so sick. Then I gained a very respectable amount of weight -- about 35 pounds -- during pregnancy. Truth be told, I'd expected to gain about 50. Still, I looked and felt horrific. I was terribly bloated. But, four weeks postpartum, I'd lost every pound, and kept losing until I was five pounds lower than I was before I got pregnant. This is easily attributed to breast feeding, because I was eating everything in sight. A few months postpartum, I also got pretty sick and was vomiting, so lost another five pounds, which just never came back.

Until now. It's back. Oh, it's back. I'm weaning Graham, so the calorie-burning benefits of breastfeeding are practically nil, and besides that, I've picked up many, many bad habits over the last two years.

So, my current mission is as follows:

1. Identify bad habits acquired during and post pregnancy.
2. Systematically eradicate bad habits.
3. Replace bad habits with nonsucky new habits.

That third one is the real kicker. Right now food is a reward. For instance, I'll reward myself with a latte and a slice of lemon loaf because I'm exhausted and heroically going about my mom duties anyway, instead of slamming vodka and locking Graham in his plastic baby jail. If deprived of my reward, it's a real bummer. So I need to figure out some stuff that makes me feel as happy as a latte and lemon loaf, ya know? And also, I can't even really get into what a crutch chocolate is right now.

So that is all. I'm open to ideas, guys. I feel like a dieting newb since it's been so long since I gave it any real effort and I've dug myself into quite the hole when it comes to my new eating habits.

Saturday, November 08, 2014

Things psychopaths do

I don't know what got me thinking tonight about the time I visited Laci Peterson's house.

I'd put Graham down for bed and he'd gotten back up and was standing in his crib. We heard a thud and then some screaming, and there was blood all over his face. It wasn't as bad as it looked, once I'd wiped his face off. He's been teething and bumping his mouth on stuff and sometimes the areas where he's about to cut a tooth, it will bleed.

My husband had run out for guards to put on the crib railing and I was nursing Graham back down and I just remembered the night I stood on Laci's street. My memory is imperfect but I know there were other people there and lots of flowers and candles and all the sorts of things you'd expect. The house was dark and empty, of course.

If you don't remember, Laci Peterson was a woman who went missing Christmas of '02. Her body and that of her seven and a half month old fetus were later found in the San Francisco Bay. Her husband Scott is in jail for their murder.

I'd been working at the Union Democrat in Sonora, about an hour north of Modesto, which is where Laci and Scott lived. Back then, Sonora was not exactly a cultural mecca, so ethnic food was nearly impossible to come by. Myself and a coworker/friend decided to head to Modesto for Indian food, a Trader Joe's stock up, and at the last minute she asked me: Should we stop and see Laci Peterson's house? And I said yes right away. Back then, working as a journalist, I felt compelled and practically entitled to see these sorts of things, and this felt little different from visiting a site for an assignment.

Except then we got there, parked the car, and walked to the house. There was nothing remarkable about it at all and definitely no reason for us to have visited. It was just the uninhabited former home of a dead woman who could have been a mother if her psychopath husband hadn't murdered her so he could pursue a relationship with a blonde.

We stood there for a moment with our arms crossed. We'd come empty-handed; no flowers or notes from us. And we understood we shouldn't have gone there. It wasn't our place to visit. It was the scene of something unspeakable, and we were just engaging in a sort of dark tourism in a place we had no right to be. We quickly left.

I never think of that. I think sometimes of the case, but I rarely remember that cold night we visited Laci's home. I don't think of it in any particular way; I don't feel guilty about it or anything. I just think -- there was this infamous murder and I went to where it probably happened.

Laci's child would be 10 years old. I don't know, maybe it's the fear of something happening to my kid that made me think of her baby. It's funny -- I have no stomach for the news any more. Me! I used to digest the most horrific facts with cold detachment. Facts were facts and my job was to report them, not blubber about it. I've seen murderers, rapists, dead bodies, victimized children, burned out homes, and people who were experiencing a level of grief I'd yet to fully understand. All that stuff used to make me righteously angry, and now it just makes me terribly sad.

Friday, November 07, 2014

The best shows you didn't know you should be watching, plus other stuff

NaBloWriMo would not be complete without a list of TV shows we need to discuss. SPOILERS AHEAD if that kind of thing matters to you (although I'm a couple episodes behind on many of these).

- Parenthood. It's the final season and someone's gonna die. Who will it be? Zeke is the obvious choice but maybe it will be Camille? Or maybe one of the kids? Hahaha.... This is such a great show, I can't believe they don't have the ratings to keep it going.

- blackish. HILARIOUS. And then they did the spanking episode and I was so impressed.

- Jane the Virgin. So good.

- American Horror Story -- they killed the horror when Twisty died. Just sayin'.

- The Walking Dead - I don't know, I guess I'm just feeling ho-hum about zombies these days. When can these people get to DC and figure out the cure and such?

- The Middle. This is basically a show of my life.

- Sons of Anarchy. I can't even watch it anymore after what happened to Tara. Literally, I am not watching it any more. It's a disgusting show.

- The Leftovers was sort of dumb, right? So was the book.

- Finding Your Roots With Henry Louis Gates, Jr. - NEW FAVORITE SHOW OF ALL TIME. If you like Who Do You Think You Are?, and I assume you do not because you aren't 85 years old at heart like I am, you will love Finding Your Roots. He does three people's genealogy at once and they do the blood test thing at the end to show what their true lineage is. Bad ass. One evening while watching it my husband (who says this is the most boring shit on the planet) fell asleep, but I was so excited I had a dream I was a genealogist later that night.

- Marry Me. Should be better than it is but it has potential. I'm still pissed Happy Endings got cancelled.

- In that same vein, I'm gonna give Benched a try, as TV Guide (I told you, I am basically 85) says it's good, and it has one of the Happy Endings people in it.

- Sleepy Hollow. Has this show lost some of its pizazz? I just don't care as much any more. The best parts of each episode are when Ichabod encounters modernisms that baffle him, and that's only like 30 seconds of each show.

- The Mindy Project. Still so good!

- The Affair. The jury is still out on this one, but major points for creative story telling and mystery.

Thursday, November 06, 2014

Becoming cool at the speed of continental drift

I forgot I was supposed to be breathlessly blogging, tweeting, and instagramming my last-kid-in-the-lunchline involvement with birchbox and stitchfix.

So here we go. I would seem more excited, but I cannot overstate the sleep deprivation happening over here, IN CASE THAT WASN'T CRYSTAL CLEAR YET.

I joined birchbox several months ago and it's been fun. I've even purchased two exorbitantly priced beauty products. One is an amazing shampoo I am rationing like chocolate if it was the end of the world and there was no more chocolate, knowmsayin? Ok, that was a bad metaphor. My point is I only use it when I'm going to be doing something other than mothering and schlepping around the house. (Interesting aside: I wrote "schlumping" and the computer changed it to "schlepping" and I just sighed like FINE COMPUTER YOU WIN. "Interesting" may have been an overstatement.)

ANYWAY the shampoo is called Number 4 Hydrating Shampoo. The stuff is basically magical. I wouldn't have thought I needed a hydrating shampoo, but it turns out I DO, and it makes my hair feel gloriously silky.

The other thing I bought is this great primer/foundation called Supergoop! I'm also rationing this stuff for special occasions. It works approximately four quadrillion times better than my old foundation, which was not cheap stuff, btw.

The next overpriced item I plan to buy once I run out of the sample is this eye cream called Balance Me Wonder Eye Cream and basically, it is sort of wonderful because it actually works. If it can make a person who gets four hours of sleep a night look like she got at least seven, it's working, mkay?

Now on to stitchfix. I received my first box the other day and was like ... the hell? I mean, I'm no style maven -- everything I'm wearing right now is literally from Old Navy and Target, and honestly I sometimes see homeless people dressed better than me. But I just didn't love the stuff they sent. Then I realized -- Duh -- I didn't give them enough info about what I am looking for. I signed up for it when G was squirming in my lap and whining to go play, so I was like -- yeah sure clothe me and stuff. They sent three polyester shirts with questionable patterns and one cotton shirt with horizontal stripes and gold buttons on the shoulders. I just wanted to be like: I am 36, not 86, man. And I hate, hate, hate horizontal stripes. Which of course they did not know. Be assured they do now. I did keep a cute necklace, though, so at least that was a win.

That is all. Have you signed up for either of these services? Do you have thoughts or tips on how to get the most out of them?

Wednesday, November 05, 2014

Swingin around

The general consensus seems to be that seemingly put-together moms are scrambling just like the rest of us. Eyeliner is apparently not an indicator of an abundance of time on one's hands or a woman's ability to juggle child-rearing and the thousand other things that need attention every day. These svelte women, it's possible, harbor dark secrets. Scummy toilets or Taco Bell for dinner or sad young ones left to their own devices in their play pens.

But maybe ... oh, maybe, some of them really do have it together. It's ok if they do. I wouldn't be wracked with insecurity when they cross my path if I didn't already wish I had it together, too. I'd stop comparing myself to them if I could. But I didn't begin my womanhood firmly anchored in a sea of self-esteem, and I don't expect to end it that way.

My kid, though. I may wish the child would sleep, but I never compare him to other babies. It wouldn't be fair to the other babies, what with my kid being rosy perfection. Whether you or anyone else agrees with me, my child is the best looking, the smartest, the funniest, the most loving child that ever learned to stumble along on this planet.

I spent most of my pregnancy feeling inhabited by an alien being. I didn't often feel tender love toward Graham as he grew in me, and I thought that because of this that when I met him for the first time I might feel that I was meeting a stranger or just feel ambivalent, and I know this is a common way for moms to feel. It's a hell of a lot, being pregnant and giving birth to a human. But to my shock, the second I saw him my alert boy looked me straight in the eye and ... the best way I can explain it is to say I was reuniting with someone I'd known and loved for eons. It's beyond anything. It's inexplicable, if cliche.

Today we went to a park and he enjoyed swinging for the first time. Previously he has not enjoyed it. He spent much of his time in the swing saying, "oh, wow," which is his only phrase for now. Other words he says, in his own way, include cat, hi, up, out, meow, woof, dada, and mama. The other day, when he peed all over his changing table while I was attempting to diaper him, I told him he was crazy and he said, "Cazy?" And I said Yes, now you're all wet. And he said, "Ett?" You see? Genius.

video

Tuesday, November 04, 2014

Mom jealousy

I can't really get into all the ways I am screwing up motherhood. Just know that for someone who has read an absurd number of parenting books, you would think I'd taken a holy vow to do exactly the opposite of what was written in each one. I'm not, like, shooting heroin while the baby plays unsupervised in a bucket of water or anything, but it is fair to say I do not have the best handle on a number of parenting aspects.

So I spend a fair amount of time wandering in public in my saggy mom jeans, wilting under the scathing gazes of superior mommies. Or the scathing gazes I perceive from these women. These beautiful, thin, stylish women who seem to have avoided the amazing hair loss I am still experiencing and definitely do not have a deeply, deeply disturbing relationship with milky way candy bars.

I do not know why these women, who have children the same age or younger than my kid, have it so together. Why their thighs are so skinny. How they have time to apply their makeup so expertly.

I assume their children sleep angelically for multiple naps every day and snooze without a peep for 12 hours every night. Nary a shadow can be seen beneath their eyes, which it goes without saying are definitely not bloodshot.

Yesterday I decided to visit a blog I hadn't seen in several months. I knew the blogger had had a child and was curious about how it was going. I really, really should have known better. The woman already leads a sort of charmed life. For starters, she makes a living off her food blog and is a willowy blonde yoga instructor. Her pregnancy had gone off without a hitch and she spent most of it hiking, doing yoga, eating extraordinarily nutritious food and generally looking like the most gorgeous pregnant woman alive. (I, on the other hand, looked like I'd been injected with chemo drugs and got a bad nose job)

So naturally, this woman's baby is enormously fat and at five months weighs more than my 11 month old. And yeah, I'm jealous her baby is fat. She's never had a doctor peer down at her and interrogate her about her breast feeding techniques and never had to wonder if her kid is getting enough calories.

And naturally, she is thin and sporting a lustrous head of hair and talking about all the dates she and her husband go on. At this point I began to feel a slight hint of murderous rage.

And then, naturally, her baby has slept 12 hours a night since he was 15 weeks old. And he takes "two good naps every day." This is the part when my left eyelid began to twitch uncontrollably. I turned to my husband and said -- If there is a God, this woman's next child will be straight from Hell.

And then I admitted: I am not a very nice person.

And my husband said: No, you are not.

That is not to say I feel my child was sent to me by The Devil. He is actually a very charming, hilarious, adorable boy in every way except for one -- sleep! And it happens that lack of sleep affects every other aspect of my life. I might -- might! -- be able to give superior mommies a run for their money if my little chunk of love was a champion sleeper.

And I feel that, given enough time -- say, 12 years -- I can probably get him to sleep through the night, and probably to sleep past 7 a.m.

Monday, November 03, 2014

To sleep, perchance to scream

I almost forgot to post today. I was all focused on completing my absentee ballot (which I have to take to a polling place tomorrow, thereby defeating the purpose of being an absentee voter, as per usual), and then I felt happy because I was going to go to bed, or attempt to anyway, because Old Eagle Ears (the baby) sometimes wakes up when the floor creaks as I tiptoe by.

And then I was like Oh Damn. NaBloPoMo.

This is how a life of non-blogging begins. Sleep deprivation.

We are in the midst of one of the most challenging times with Graham. I thought the four month sleep regression was difficult ... I thought a lot of times were difficult, and the honest truth is this child is not a good sleeper, so it has been difficult. But I believe what's been going on the last couple weeks takes the cake.

The child has been teething for a few weeks, so there's that stabbing mouth pain to wake him up. And then when he wakes up he wants to stand and yell in his crib. Getting him back down to sleep sometimes takes HOURS. Last night I was up from 1:30 a.m. to 4 a.m. and he woke for the day at 6:20 a.m. Do you see how this is no effing joke? I'm running on pumpkin spice latte fumes.

It's just what's happening right now. I have accepted it, and am determined to plod through the damn thing until this kid learns how to GTFTS. That's not to say there haven't been times when I'm so tired I just cry. Hahahahaha. I thought I knew what sleep deprivation was. As all the mommies told me when I was pregnant: I HAD NO IDEA.

Sunday, November 02, 2014

BOOKS

This is my first book review post in a year! How sad. I certainly haven't stopped reading. Parenthood is time-consuming and exhausting, but I HAVE CERTAIN REQUIREMENTS. One is that I need to read. When I'm not reading, I feel depressed.

(Other requirements: Chocolate, wine, sunshine, human interaction)

So anyway, Imma just post a list of what I've read in the last year, with a quick rating, because: TIME CONSTRAINTS.

- The Bone Clocks by David Mitchell: OMFG SO GOOD. Please Hollywood do not pull a Cloud Atlas. This is another book that should never be a movie but is HELLA GOOD.

- The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood: Very nice dystopian future novel by one of the best.

- Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout. Decent. Sort of depressing.

- Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami. So bizarre but pretty good.

- The Secret History by Donna Tartt. Entertaining. Well written. I didn't love it but it's a good book.

- Brain on Fire: My Month of Madness by Susannah Cahalan. I enjoyed this due to my periodic hypochondria.

- The Golem and the Jinni by Helene Wecker. SO FRIGGING GOOD.

- The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt. SO, SO GOOD.

- Want Not by Jonathan Miles. Definitely entertaining and smart.

- Allegiant (Divergent #3) by Veronica Roth. Meh.

- The Rosie Project by Graeme Simsion. Really good!

- And the Mountains Echoed by Khaled Hosseini. Amazing and heartbreaking.

- Life After Life by Kate Atkinson. One of the best of the year. READ IT!!

I also read at least a dozen baby books, most of them about how to get your kid to sleep HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA *sob* that is a post for a whole other time.

Happy reading! Tell me what your favorite books of the year are!


Saturday, November 01, 2014

NaBloPoMo Attempt

Is anyone still reading this blog?

Not bloody likely.

So no one will mind if I attempt to blog once per day for NaBloPoMo. I am too lazy to explain what that is, so please employ google if you've stumbled across this post for some bizarre reason.

I'll try not to brain dump; I'll try to stick to one topic for each post. I don't plan to use writing prompts, which usually annoy me. And I'll attempt not to just complain in each post.

GOOD LUCK TO ME.